There's a certain beautiful melancholy that comes with sunset. It's as if the day is putting on one last glorious show, saying don't forget me--clouds roll together in flames of color and light, flanking the sun as it sinks beneath the horizon. There is no doubt that this is a sight to behold, but then there's a type of sadness knowing that another day has slipped through our fingers, never to be held again. I'm a big believer in living each day to the fullest, and sometimes it makes me sad when time goes so quickly.
A few weeks ago, we headed down the river just as the sun was setting. The littles played on the beach and drew in the sand and we all admired the flock of geese gracefully floating on the water. Later, after the sun was just an afterglow in the western sky, there was live music as we sat on the concrete pillars in the twilight. My heart felt as though it could burst at that moment; goosebumps ran up and down my arms. I wanted to bottle up the rush of feelings to save for a pick-me-up later down the road. And after night fell upon us, we slowly packed up and drove home, taking the longer route with the windows down. The sunset begged me not to forget it. I didn't.